After a slight delay while the living room is aired, and a second batch of starters are whipped up and put in the oven, we sit down to eat at Tanya and John’s huge rustic oak dining table. John pours a ‘Pouilly-Fumé with notes of citrus, exotic fruits and white flowers’ – that’s white wine to the rest of us – which is delicious and evidently not a cheap bottle, so I have to concede that it does deserve the pretentious introduction. Our starters of Stilton, pear and walnut soufflé are equally mouth-watering – not something I’ve had before, and I decide I’d like to have a shot at making them myself at some point.
The conversation at the table is light, humorous and enjoyable, with Tanya and John bickering good-naturedly throughout. It seems clear that, while they publicly rib and goad each other, they’re a solid couple who are still very much in love, despite Tanya’s occasional comments to the contrary. Their childlike behaviour aside, it feels like a very grown-up experience and I really quite like it. It’s different to going to the pub or on a night out – very much a ‘coupley’ experience. I actually feel a bit sad when I realise it’s not something that’s likely to be repeated when Shep moves on, and I’m living the single life again.
We’re just starting on our main course of venison wellington with potato dauphinoise and steamed vegetables – another culinary triumph (who would have guessed Tanya was a chef extraordinaire!) – when the conversation comes back round to Shep and his comedy career. Or rather, how I helped to save his comedy career.
‘So, Ciaran…’ Tanya has a glint in her eye that puts me on edge. ‘It seems, with these gushing write-ups, that the only way is up for you now.’
‘That’s certainly what I’m hoping.’ Shep saws through his venison wellington with his steak knife and pops a piece in his mouth.
‘I think it’s wonderful that things have worked out so well for you. And to think, if you and Lea hadn’t bumped into each other that day, it might have been a different story altogether.’
‘I’ve had that thought many times myself.’ He nods, while I try to catch Tanya’s eye to signal to her not to take this topic of conversation any further.
She either doesn’t notice me or – more likely – she purposefully avoids my stare.
‘It’s almost as if there was a little bit of fate going on there, don’t you think?’ She proceeds to wander into conversational territory I really don’t want her in.
‘I honestly can’t thank Lea enough.’ He reaches across and pats my back affectionately, while I force a smile in return. ‘I’m not sure I believe in that hocus-pocus stuff, though.’
‘Of course.’ Tanya seems to reflect for a moment, while I attempt to burn a hole through her face with my retinas. ‘Being a scientist, I probably don’t either. I guess I’m just a hopeful romantic – love a bit of serendipity. And the two of you make such a lovely couple.’
Oh God. She did not just do that. If Tanya weren’t my senior colleague, she’d be getting a kick under the table right about now. Well, if I could actually reach her under this gigantic oak tree. Unfortunately, all I can do is look on helplessly as this cringeworthy exchange continues to unfold. As this rate, poor Shep will be thinking we cooked this evening up together to try and move things on between him and I – especially after my unfortunate comment earlier on.
Having taken another mouthful of venison at the wrong moment, Shep does that hand gesture thing that indicates he’ll respond as soon as he’s swallowed. I suppose I should consider it a relief that he hasn’t choked on his food. Unable to look at him, I play with my own meal, waiting with bated breath for his reply. I’m desperate to hear something to reassure me that he’s not freaked out by Tanya’s blatant attempts at playing Cupid. Even better would be a glimmer of something positive – any indication that Shep sees a future for us beyond the end of the festival.
In the end, I get neither.
‘I think we all know I’m punching above my weight. Right, Lea?’ He says eventually, giving me a comical nudge while I wither in my seat. ‘She wasn’t even attracted to me to begin with.’
‘At least you know your place in the pecking order. Always best to know who’s boss,’ John quips, earning himself a look from Tanya that ironically confirms his statement.
‘At my ripe age, Ciaran, I have plenty of wisdom stored up that I like to impart on you young ones,’ Tanya proclaims, as if there are several decades between us, when in fact it can’t be any more than twenty years. ‘I also have much more useful advice than my husband, and I guarantee you that a relationship built on a true connection, trust and mutual respect will last longer and be far more fulfilling than one based on animalistic sexual attraction.’
She pauses briefly to sip from her wine glass, and I sneak an anxious look at Shep. He appears somewhat bemused by this ‘speech’, which has seemingly come from nowhere.
‘That’s not to say that great sex isn’t something to aim for,’ she continues, making me wish I could tape over her mouth. ‘John and I made a hobby out of it before our little darlings came along. Now the best I can hope for is some fun with the shower head of a morning.’
This final comment is met with stunned silence – even from John. I shrink down in my seat, mortified that I’ve willingly brought Shep into this situation, knowing full well that Tanya has boundary issues. I’m now thinking this whole dinner-party idea was a very bad one indeed.
On Sunday morning, I wake up groggy and hungover from too much booze. Our evening with Tanya and John continued to be an equally eye-opening and butt-clenching experience, right through dessert, coffee and liqueurs. Before last night, the closest I’d come to having an after-dinner digestif had been opening a pack of McVitie’s to satisfy my sweet tooth. While I might ordinarily have enjoyed this novel experience, it was difficult to focus on anything other than my excruciating discomfort, as Tanya continued to drop the most unsubtle hints ever at Shep.
She obviously thought she was playing a masterful role as matchmaker. Breaking news: she was not – and this propelled me to drink more and more to drown it all out. Our night then came to a close with us making a collective vow to do it again before the end of the month. I had my fingers firmly crossed behind my back at that particular moment. Then Shep and I took a taxi back to mine, fell into bed and were out cold within moments of our heads hitting our respective pillows.
As I roll over and see Shep lying asleep beside me, I feel a bit sick thinking about what must have been going through his head the evening before. He was a perfect dinner guest and played along with the banter to an exceptional level, but how could he not have felt uncomfortable with Tanya attempting to steer our relationship like that. While she had, to some extent, given away her intentions in advance, I had expected her to assume a more covert role. Instead, she made it so obvious what she was up to, she may as well have scrawled: ‘Ciaran, will you make an honest woman out of Lea?’ across the French windows in marker pen. As it turns out, Tanya’s even more of a character outside of work than in, which I guess makes sense. She does need to have some air of professionalism at work.
Under normal circumstances, I’d happily hang out with her, because she’s great fun, but there’s no question that last night was a mistake. I’m very concerned that she has unintentionally bulldozed any chance Shep and I might have had at a real relationship – no matter how minuscule that was. He also never answered my question about why he went all weird when I made that joke about climbing my stairs – not even when it was just the two of us on our way home – and I couldn’t bring myself to ask again. Through personal experience, I’ve learned that men can be flighty at the best of times, so when faced with the spectacle that was last night, us going our separate ways in a week or so’s time (both physically and emotionally) now feels like a foregone conclusion.
Unable to take any more of these burdensome thoughts, I silently climb out of bed, gather some clean clothes and head for the shower in the hope it will shift my thinking and maybe even my hangover. Then, once I’m dressed, I head to the kitchen to make us some breakfast.
‘Morning, any chance of a cup of tea?’ Shep appears in the doorway as I’m getting the breakfast cereal out of the cupboard.
He’s all dozy and bleary-eyed, which makes him look utterly adorable. My heart skips then sinks, all in a single moment, as my worry about last night and the dread of the clock unapologetically counting down our time together pile upon me like earth being dumped off the back of a truck.
‘Morning, yes of course.’ I smile at him, keeping this inner turmoil firmly locked away. ‘Why don’t you take a seat at the table and I’ll bring it through?’
He slopes off to the other room, while I slump against the kitchen counter and take a long contemplative breath. I really never expected this to be how things would go when I offered Shep my spare room two weeks ago. Through my own lack of foresight, I’m now feeling extremely vulnerable and staring down the barrel of sure-fire heartbreak. And the worst thing about it is that the connection I have with Shep – even after only a couple of weeks – trumps any feelings I ever had for Paul the wanker, or the series of similarly self-obsessed idiots I dated before him. In fact, it tells me that I never scratched the surface with any of them. Our relationships were shallow and superficial, and I honestly couldn’t say I knew any part of them – other than the part that comes out to play under the bedsheets, that is.
I don’t know whether it’s the situation Shep and I have found ourselves in, living in such close quarters, or whether he’s so different to those other guys. Perhaps it’s a combination of both. But it’s forced us to communicate and interact on an entirely different level. It really is like things are moving in fast forward, and in terms of getting to know each other, we’re already months ahead of where we would ordinarily be. I’ve watched people on reality TV dating shows talk about this type of thing when they’re interviewed, and I’ve cynically always thought it was just a ploy to suck the viewers in. However, I can honestly say that I now understand exactly what they’re talking about. And unfortunately, I can also understand how things can go to shit so quickly when their cosy bubble bursts and real life resumes.
‘You still alive in there?’ Shep calls from next door, snapping me back to reality.
‘Um… yep. Be there in a sec.’
I quickly scrabble around, getting the tea made and everything we need out of the cupboards and drawers, then I ferry the cereal boxes, crockery and milk through to the table.
‘I could have helped. You didn’t need to do that all yourself.’ Shep picks up the box of cornflakes and pours himself a generous portion.
‘It’s fine.’ I dismiss his comment. ‘Distracts me from my hangover.’
And from my pre-heartbreak woes.
Once I’ve brought everything through, I take a seat opposite Shep and sip gingerly at my steaming mug of tea.
‘That was quite a sigh.’ Shep’s spoon pauses halfway to his mouth.
‘Was it?’ I’m not even aware that I let out a sigh at all.
‘I’d say an eight.’
‘Out of ten?’
‘Out of five.’ He raises a curious eyebrow.
‘Oh.’ I stiffen, and immediately try to think of a plausible excuse, because I know he’ll ask.
‘What’s with you? Anything I can help with?’
Drawing a blank, I say nothing and simply give a pained shake of my head.
He puts down his spoon and sits forward. ‘OK, now I know there’s something wrong. That’s what you do when something’s eating at you. Come on, spit it out.’
His intense green eyes are fixed on mine, stirring up a flurry of emotions that are so overwhelming, I have to look away. I desperately want to ask him if I ruined things with my clumsy comment last night, or if Tanya did with hers. If there was even anything to ruin in the first place, or if these deep terrifying feelings I’ve developed are just one-sided. Instead, I add sugar to my tea, despite having never done so before and purely to stall for time. Then, as my brain finally kicks in and offers me what I need, I meet his gaze, sincerely hoping that my face isn’t giving everything away.
‘I’m just… um… a bit worried about today.’
‘You mean the lunchtime grilling I’m in for?’ He grins, seemingly convinced by my answer. ‘Should it not be me who’s nervous? I’m the one who nearly got my head caved in the other day.’
‘That is true.’ I pause, trying to form a convincing enough response. ‘The thing is: I know my parents. They’re amazing people, don’t get me wrong, but they can be full-on. My concern is that—’
‘They’ll scare me off?’
I’m thrown by this interjection, which was not at all what I was expecting from him. Is Shep indicating that there is something to scare him off from? Like the possibility of a longer-term relationship? Or is this just another one of his endless quips?
‘Well, no.’ I opt for the safest response. ‘We both know that this meet-the-parents situation is a sham to avoid me having to admit to “picking up a stray”, taking him home and shagging him for the month – no offence intended. If they knew the truth, I’d get an absolute roasting.’
‘With me facing a grilling and you potentially a roasting, it’s starting to feel like we’re lunch.’
‘Ha, yeah.’ I laugh, then my expression turns serious again. ‘I guess I’m nervous that either the truth will accidentally come out or they’ll put you through a really awful experience.’
Obviously, what I really want to say is far more than this, but it’s all I can share and it is the truth. Well, a truth – a much tamer one than the one I feel too vulnerable to share.
‘Hey, Lea.’ Shep reaches across the table and rubs the back of my hand with his thumb. ‘You don’t need to worry about me. If I can deal with hecklers hurling nonsense at me when I’m on stage, I can handle your folks. They might even give me some inspiration for a future show…’
His words sting so sharply that I have to work hard to keep my face neutral while my insides go into meltdown. Becca’s previous comment about this being a possible motive for Shep agreeing to the lunch reverberates like a pinball in my mind. She was right. He might think he’s placating me, but there’s no smoke without fire, as the saying goes. Which means that we really are on the road to goodbye in around ten days’ time.
Blissfully unaware that I’m no longer listening to a word he’s saying, Shep carries on talking for a good thirty seconds before I finally re-engage with the conversation.
‘Anyway, let’s try and enjoy the lunch as best we can, yeah?’ He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.
‘Sure, let’s do that,’ is all I can manage by way of a reply, while I try very hard not to burst into tears.